


Out

by scoottt



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3928816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoottt/pseuds/scoottt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of the mercenaries employed at Teufort signed a contract that swore them to secrecy of the operations for life. When the two battling companies, RED and BLU, run out of funding, the project has to be shut down, scrapped. They get to go home after, right? As events unfold, that seems less and less likely. The RED Scout, Matt, finds himself out of a lot of things - out of  luck and out of time as he finds himself getting caught up with and falling for the wrong people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out

A loud _crack_ reverberated off of the sides of the metal shacks and warehouses that made up the exterior of the RED base. In the air, a white sphere became infinitesimally small against the dusty blue of the sky as it soared away, propelled by the force of the Scout’s bat. Not moments after, said Scout could be seen dashing off in the direction of the disappearing baseball. He was small but fast, his 5’ 3” frame seemingly floating across the cracked dirt that comprised the ground surrounding their camp. It was after their hours of operations, after all of the day’s battles, so he was clad in street clothes. In place of the familiar red t-shirt was an oversized black one, and his legs found home in jeans rather than baseball pants. His head was free from the commonplace hat and headset, shaggy blond hair flying freely as he whizzed across the deserted landscape. The same black cleats were still on his feet, though, kicking up clouds of dirt in his wake.

By the time the Scout made it to the baseball, sweat had gathered on his brow, and his slim chest rose and fell quickly, trying to supply enough oxygen to his racing heart. This had to be the farthest he had hit the ball yet. He let his bat clatter to the ground beside himself and the ball, opting to drop to his knees for a moment to catch his breath. His jeans would be sullied by the dust that seemed ubiquitous throughout the entirety of Teufort, but he didn't care. As he sat there, breathing deeply through his nose, the ball rolled towards him. With just the softest _whoosh_ , the RED Spy decloaked in front of him. “Bonjour, Matt. Playing fetch wiz yourself again, mm?”

Matt tried to conceal the surprise of seeing the Spy way out from the camp. From where they were, the buildings were naught but tiny grey flecks on the horizon. However, the slight gasp that passed his lips belied him. "What the hell ah’ you doin’ out heah?” he questioned, slate grey eyes squinting up at him, half from the sun that shined into them, half from his distaste at the Spy’s intrusion on his solo game of baseball.

“Zis is part of ze RED base, is it not? I ‘ave every right to be out ‘ere. It is not my fault zat you just so ‘appen to be out ‘ere as well,” the Frenchman replied, eyeing the young male kneeling on the ground. The blond hair that was usually contained by a black baseball cap was windblown and beginning to frizz in the heat. The Scout could benefit from some of the product the Spy worked into his own hair, which was still hidden beneath his balaclava.

“Yeah, real coincidental that, of all the miles an’ miles of land on the base, you happen t’ be right heah too,” came the retort, laced with a Bostonian accent. Matt stood up, brushing the dust from his pants. His bat and the baseball remained at his feet as his hands found their way to his hips, standing akimbo. In the past week or so, the harassment from the Spy was gradually increasing. Wherever Matt went, the stealthy man seemed to either already be there, or show up shortly thereafter. Whether the Scout was in the rec room, playing cards with the Pyro, or trying to get dressed after using the communal showers, there was the taunt of a French accent.

“I was simply on a stroll.” The Spy shrugged his shoulders, tone and posture nonchalant, a stark contrast from the bristling eighteen-year-old opposite him. From his pocket, he procured a posh cigarette case. He flipped it open in one fluid flick of his thumb, selecting one of the white cylinders from it and popping it between his lips. With the same grace, he returned the case to his pocket, bringing out instead a lighter. There was no need to shield the flame from the wind, as no breeze passed through the stale air that encompassed them. He let the ember lick at the end of the cigarette until the paper and tobacco was sufficiently lit.

It all happened in a matter of seconds, but Matt’s eyes followed every movement, processing it as if it were in slow motion. As much as he hated the Spy’s constant - _unwanted_ \- attention, he had to admit that the man had a sauveness about him. That was what made him the perfect mercenary for the espionage position in RED. However, when Matt snapped out of his mesmerisation, he returned to his previous stance of irritation. “Well, you can just stroll on outta heah now.”

“Tsk, ‘ow rude. Someone should teach you some manners,” the Spy chided, eyes narrowing. How petulant of the Scout. With as much precise fluidity in his movements as he had shown previous, the Frenchman stepped forward to close the space between them. One gloved hand encircled one of the Scout’s thin wrists, tugging it up between them. Immediately, there was resistance as Matt tried to tug his hand away.

“The fuck ah’ you d - “

“Non, lapin, shh,” the older male cut him off, using his free hand to grab the cigarette from its perch on his lips. His chocolaty eyes gazed momentarily at the orange glow at the end of the cancerous stick before pressing the heat against the pallid wrist in his grasp. He knew that the Scout was making a racket - shouting at him, actually - yet he paid no mind. Instead, he simply watched as the smoked curled away from the burning flesh, disappearing into the open air above them. A smirk found its way to the Spy’s expression as he pulled the ashen cigarette away from the cauterised skin. The reddish-brown circle that now marred the flesh served as a reminder of the Spy’s stern disapproval for such boorish behaviour. “Per’aps now you will zink before you speak, oui?”

And with that, the Spy cloaked once more, vanishing into the dusk that was beginning to settle over Teufort.


End file.
